


restriction

by missabigailhobbs



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, hux in a straitjacket, straitjackets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missabigailhobbs/pseuds/missabigailhobbs
Summary: Only a very sick man could call this love.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [klismaphilia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/gifts).



> I seriously wrote this at 5 am for my darling friend @klismaphilia/@symphorophilian. It's Hux in a straitjacket and not much else. Hope you enjoy! I'm on tumblr at @missabigailhobbs, feel free to come by and talk trash :)

Only a very sick man could call this love. 

Thankfully, Armitage Hux was just such a man. 

It was almost like a hug, if you thought about it right. Squeezing, constricting, constant contact and weight and a visceral sense that you aren’t going anywhere. More a bit of self-love, if one were to get more specific. 

Hux still had no idea where Kylo had gotten it. Some Outer Rim hole in the wall, no doubt, but it was the genuine article. Unlike the modern metal restraints used by the Order, this was old, made of thick, double-sewn canvas and straps, big tactile buckles that made a satisfying clink when Kylo’s thick fingers fastened them into place. It was almost like being set to sea, Hux thought as his arms strained around his narrow torso. All that rigging to make it work properly. 

He wasn’t sure when he’d first gotten the idea. Something about needing restriction for his mind, his genius brain that never settled, not even to let him sleep. After a cycle or three without sleep, Hux had started to hallucinate about a heavy blanket he could put over his head that would allow him instant relief, slipping into deep and dreamless sleep. Of course, no such soporific existed, at least that he knew of. He contented himself with a glass of expensive brandy and forced himself to lay in bed for a few hours at least, before there was more work to be done, always more work. 

But then there was the gift. Kylo never gave him gifts, per se - the gift of not destroying his ship was all Hux asked for. That, and for Kylo to fuck him over his desk when the pressure of running a massive starship with thousands of souls aboard got too intense, but those were experiences more than tangible items. So he’d been understandably baffled when Kylo dropped a weighty box on his desk after a long mission, ferreting out a rebel base on some backwater planet he didn’t want to think about, the name and climate too similar to his own roots to ponder over. 

“What’s this?” he asked, almost wary to touch it. 

“Just open it,” the Knight had replied, voice still obscured by the vocoder inside his helmet. 

With some trepidation, he’d obeyed, and he’d gasped, hardly daring yet to hope that Kylo may have found a solution to his problem. “Is this…?”

Kylo had merely nodded. “Take off your jacket.”

The first time, it had been inelegant. Hux’s uniform top did not allow for enough freedom of movement to wrap his arms all the way around himself, so he’d needed to strip down to his undershirt. Frustrated, Hux suggested they repair to his sitting room, instead of his office. They’d looked quite the odd couple, Hux slightly less groomed than usual and Kylo right at his heels, carrying a large box. 

But when they’d gotten back to Hux’s quarters… Kylo took his time with it. He had Hux sit on the floor, Kylo kneeling behind him. Hux stripped down to his undershirt, and Kylo figured out the straps and buckles without too much problem, feeding them through and constricting Hux’s body. The device had been made for a larger man than Hux, but it was adjustable enough to make it work. 

“How does that feel?” Kylo asked, running a hand down the back, where there was a small strip of exposed skin. 

“Tighter.” Hux made no other reply. He couldn’t have done so. The more Kylo pulled, the emptier his mind became. This was bliss. 

Kylo tightened the straps as much as he felt comfortable, until Hux couldn’t have moved an inch even if he tried. “That’s enough.” 

And that was how General Armitage Hux of the First Order came to be laying in his quarters, tightly bound in a straitjacket from gods-know-where, eyes closed and blissful for the first time in months. He could barely breathe, he couldn’t move his upper body to save his life, and he was so happy. 

It became a ritual, of sorts. When the stress of the job became too much for Hux to bear, he would send Kylo a message, and Ren would dutifully appear, wrap his General in a straitjacket, and sit by his side. Kylo supposed it was similar to the meditation he did to master his own powers, if a bit… unorthodox. 

They’d discussed a variety of things they could do. Could Kylo fuck him while he was in restraints? Certainly, but he refused to do so. Something about potentially cracking one or more of Hux’s ribs or something like that. Could Hux sleep in it? Yes, and he’d done so a few times, although Kylo insisted on loosening it a little before that so Hux wouldn’t lose all circulation in his hands. It was blissful, to sleep so tightly bound. Like hands holding his body from all sides, weight pressing him down. He’d never slept so soundly in his life. 

And so they fell into a sort of routine, a strange dance with one person’s hands tied behind their back. Or rather, around their stomach. Kylo wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but a few times he’d been able to meditate beside Hux while the general lay there, wrapped up in thick canvas, rough fabric brushing Kylo’s shoulder. He thought he’d felt a moment of connection, once, when Hux’s soft, nearly sleep-like breathing matched his own slow inhales. He did think it was almost ironic, that the only moments of emotional connection came when Hux was literally closed off. 

Beyond these times, however, they maintained a strict regimen. Neither one touched the other much; even while Kylo was lacing Hux into his straitjacket, they only touched as much as absolutely necessary. There was something beautiful about it, however - people always viewed Kylo as a beast, a creature to be tamed. They underestimated Hux’s power, when he chose to get his knuckles bloody. He usually preferred to remain safe in his lofty rhetoric, but he was known to fight dirty when necessary. The exact metaphor escaped Kylo, although he often pondered it as he and Hux lay in silence together… something about ‘taming the beast inside’, perhaps. Kylo’s beast was on the outside, and he had no problem unleashing it. Hux’s demons were his mind, and it took close restriction of the body to keep them quiet. 

Hux had wondered once as he lay there with his body swaddled like a maniac or a baby, if there wasn’t some old saying about this. Tame the body, tame the mind? Whatever the case, he would continue to be grateful for Kylo’s gift, and if he took up the habit of subconsciously hugging himself when he was alone in his office and needed to calm down, or even squeezing his own wrist behind the safety of his greatcoat when he was on the bridge? Well...no one would be the wiser, and no one needed to be.


End file.
